I've Closed Enough Windows to Know You Can Never Look Back
by HermioneGirl96
Summary: Based on f-ing-ruthless-baz's series "I'll Tell You" on AO3, but can stand alone if you read the author note. Canon-divergent. After a whole lot of miscommunication, Baz and Simon have to sort some things out in their relationship during their seventh year at Watford.


**Disclaimer: The characters and setting belong to Rainbow Rowell; the title belongs to fun., from the song "Carry On." **

**A/N: This fic is based on "You Have Got to Give" from the "I'll Tell You" series by f-ing-ruthless-baz on AO3. I highly recommend that entire series. What you need to know for this fic, if you haven't read it, is that, after a long period of Baz badmouthing Simon behind his back, Baz and Simon had a one-night stand that they both intended to mean more. After a lot of miscommunication, they finally got together, but Baz didn't want to be seen with Simon in public in case people told Simon what he'd said about him before. Simon interpreted this as Baz being embarrassed by him. Finally, one day, they're holding hands on the way to dinner, only to have some of Baz's insults thrown in their faces. Baz doesn't want to talk about this in public even though Simon tries to get him to talk. Penny, realizing that something is up, tries to talk first to Baz and then, after Baz leaves in shame, to Simon. "I'll Tell You" is a university AU, but I decided to take these events and set them at Watford. I'm imagining it's seventh year, so Simon and Agatha broke up sixth year. Also, I'm imagining that mobile phones are allowed at Watford. **

**BAZ**

I know Bunce is trying to talk Simon out of it. Out of _me_. And I know he was hurt already by Dev and Niall's jibes on the way to dinner. I wish I could wipe the incredulity off their faces and erase the words they parrotted back at me—_my_ ill-chosen words from when I thought my crush on Simon was most hopeless—but I don't think it would help, ultimately. Simon always listens to Bunce. And I never deserved him.

I head down to the catacombs mindlessly, almost unaware of where my feet are carrying me. I drain a few rats and then make my way to my mother's tomb. It's weak to avoid Simon—if he wants to break up with me, which he surely does, it's childish of me to hide from him rather than returning to our room—but I want to spend just a little bit longer as his boyfriend rather than his ex, even if that means wrecking my trousers sitting on the dusty, rat-bone-littered floor of the catacombs.

Eventually, though, I stop rambling to my mother and pull my mobile out of my pocket. What I see on the screen sends ice down my spine. It's a notification from Simon from 45 minutes ago, a text: _Sorry sorry sorry. I didn't mean to push you. Please come back. I won't make you talk about it. Please. _

Oh, Simon, what have I done?

**SIMON**

After Baz fled the dining hall—there's really no other word for it; I haven't seen him move that quickly off the football pitch in ages—I asked Penny what was up. She swore she wasn't trying to chase him off, that she was worried about both of us, and that she thought we needed to talk to each other. In fact, she practically shoved me out of the dining hall so I could go talk to Baz. But he wasn't here when I arrived, nor did he respond to the desperate, clingy text I sent him as soon as I got here. So I've been pacing the room for half an hour and trying not to cry.

It's a losing battle. Everything always is, for me. It's no wonder he thinks I'm "a loser" and "so fucking pathetic," as Dev quoted to us on our way to dinner. (Dev's always had the tact and subtlety of a brick.) I know he's going to break up with me—he's never seemed comfortable being seen with me outside the room; clearly he thinks I'm an embarrassment—but I wish he'd just get on with it, rather than heading to the catacombs or the Wavering Woods or wherever-the-fuck to procrastinate. I'm pretty sure this is the first time Baz has procrastinated in his life, and I'm not sure if I should be honored or offended that I'm the cause.

So yeah, by the 30-minute mark there are tears running down my cheeks, and I'm focusing on my breathing to see if I can stave off actual all-out sobs. There are so many things I did wrong, so many things I regret. All my life, I've been nothing but a fuck-up. I proved that again and again today by refusing to talk when Baz wanted to and by pushing him to talk when he clearly didn't want to. I'm such a rubbish boyfriend. No wonder he doesn't really want me.

I keep checking my phone, but Baz doesn't reply. When it's been 45 minutes since I sent the text, the awareness of just how much time has passed brings another round of tears, even stronger than before, and they're not silent this time, either. Visiting the catacombs doesn't take Baz this long. He must have gone to the Wavering Woods, and that means he probably won't be back for hours. It's not even 8:00, but I should just shower and get ready for bed. That might calm me down, and it's not like I have anything better to do with my Friday night. Maybe if I'm asleep when Baz gets back, he won't break up with me until tomorrow, and I'll get to spend one more night as his boyfriend.

I'm just getting my pyjamas ready to take into the en-suite when the door opens.

**BAZ**

I sprint back to the room, but it still takes several minutes to get from the catacombs to Mummer's House and all the way up the stairs. Even over my own breathing—I really need to do more conditioning outside of practice—I can hear something by the time I'm halfway up the last flight of stairs, something that sounds like crying.

Oh Simon. Oh no. Please no . . .

I throw open the door to our room. Simon is standing between our two beds, covered in tears and snot and carrying his pyjamas, and my heart breaks. I'm right in front of him in two quick strides, ready to wrap him up in a hug, but then I realize that he may not want me to touch him. Yes, he begged me to return to the room, but that's not the same as consenting to . . . anything.

"Simon," I say as gently as I know how, "can I hug you?"

He chokes out a sob, and I'm torn between wanting to hold him and wanting to set myself on fire. I caused this. I'm such a monster. But then he tosses his pyjamas onto his bed and tilts his head up to look at me and says, "Please."

I wrap my arms around him and hold him as tightly as I think I can without hurting him. He clings to me in response, taking handfuls of the back of my uniform in his fists, and sobs into my neck. It's all I can do to stay standing. His agony is enough to bring me to my knees, and only the knowledge that I need to stay strong for him keeps me on my feet. We stand like that for several long minutes, but finally Simon seems to get his crying under control and pulls back.

"Sorry," he says. "I got your shoulder all wet. I'm such a mess."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at Simon forgetting we're mages. I don't want to ever make him feel stupid again. Instead, I give him a small, close-lipped smile, and say, "If I cared, which I don't, there are plenty of drying and cleaning spells I could use."

Simon frowns. "You don't care? But you always care about your clothes."

I hazard a hand on his cheek. "Not nearly as much as I care about you."

Simon's breath catches. "Baz? You're confusing me."

"How so?" I have to bite my tongue to keep from adding "love."

"You want to break up with me . . . right?"

My knees really are going to buckle if he keeps breaking my heart like this. I stroke down his cheek and cradle his neck. "No, Simon, of course not."

"But—but you're embarrassed to be seen with me in public, and you think I'm a loser and 'so fucking pathetic,' and I refused to talk when you wanted to, and you were so gracious about it, and then I pushed you to talk when you clearly didn't want to, and I'm such a fuck-up and you're so perfect and—"

I release his neck, take his hand, and pull him across the room to sit with me on my bed before I can collapse from sheer guilt and heartbreak. "Simon, Simon, no," I say. "I'm not embarrassed to be seen with you in public; I'm just afraid of how people are going to react and how it's going to affect you. Dev and Niall aren't the only people who have heard me say unflattering things about you in the past. It was awful of me to say them, and it's not fair to you to have to hear them, especially when I never meant any of it. And you're well within your rights to postpone conversations you don't want to have, and maybe you were a little a pushy earlier, but that's fine; everyone is on occasion, and I know you don't intend to make a habit of it. And you're absolutely not a fuck-up, nor am I in any way perfect. So please, Simon, please don't worry that I'm going to break up with you."

Simon stared at me, mouth slightly open, for the entirety of my speech, but now that I'm done he lets out another sob and buries his face in his hands. I want to hold him, but I still don't know if he'd welcome that. Instead, I put one hand on his back and start rubbing lightly back and forth. Hopefully that's the right balance of showing support without violating his boundaries.

"Simon?" I ask after a couple of minutes. "Was that the wrong thing to say? Did you want me to break up with you?"

That gets him to look up, red eyes wild. "What? No! Of course not! Fuck, Baz, I'm so, so sorry. Were you honestly worried about that?"

"That you wanted the relationship to end?" I clarify. When he nods, I say, "Of course. I've been saying horrible things about you for years, and some of them just got thrown in your face, and I refused to explain. Not to mention that Bunce is disappointed in me. I already knew I could never deserve you, but until tonight I thought maybe—maybe we could make it work, anyway. And then tonight took all that hope away."

Agony is written on every inch of his face. "Oh Baz, I'm so sorry. And here you are having to deal with my silly breakdown when you thought—"

I shake my head. "None of that, Simon. I was the one who ran away from the conversation at dinner. I was the one who ignored my mobile for 45 minutes afterward. Those things are on me. And breakdowns are never silly. You're not weak for having emotions."

Simon laughs wetly. "Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?"

"I'm Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch. All I've done is fallen in love with you." Wait, did I just say that out loud?

Simon's eyes go wide. "You—you what?"

"Fuck. Ignore that. I know it's too early. Fuck. I'm so sorry, Simon, I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean it?" he asks, his voice wobbling again.

"No! Wait, not no—yes! I mean—I'm so sorry, Simon, I absolutely meant it, but I know it's way too early and saying it was an accident."

"No, Baz, don't apologize," says Simon, taking my hands. "It is a bit early, and I'm not sure I'm ready to say it back yet, but it's so, so nice to hear. Please don't be sorry."

_Yet_. I've gone from wanting to collapse to wanting to swoon. "Is there anything you want to talk about, love?"

Simon wipes at his eyes and then yawns. "Not tonight, but soon. I don't want you worrying, though—it's nothing bad."

"Are you sure?" I can't help but ask. "I've been extremely shitty to you."

Simon shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to look back, anyway. I just want to look forward. With you. If that's all right."

I smile and kiss him on the cheek. "That's so much more than all right."


End file.
